


The Stars at Night Are Big and Bright

by EveryDayBella



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Dallas has too much light pollution, Homesickness, Kinda, M/M, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, boyfriends being the softest, but we have our own stars, he's only underage in the states you know, so soft, the chorus of the Stars next year next year next year, this is just soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 09:36:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18870565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveryDayBella/pseuds/EveryDayBella
Summary: They’d lost game seven forty-eight hours beforehand and he’s been screwed over for the Calder, but the weather is nice for a moment and the roof of their apartment building is at least dry. It’s not hot and not to cold and the Dallas skyline is stretched out before them in all its sparkling majesty. It’s not his first choice of places to be, but this isn’t so bad.





	The Stars at Night Are Big and Bright

**Author's Note:**

  * For [draftlottery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/draftlottery/gifts).



“You know Texans always go on about the stars at night being big and bright, but honestly I can’t see shit.”

 

Miro giggles, light and loose from Roope’s Tito’s, a smoke they’d bummed off Jamie, and a mound of sweets. They’d lost game seven forty-eight hours beforehand and he’s been screwed over for the Calder, but the weather is nice for a moment and the roof of their apartment building is at least dry. It’s not hot and not to cold and the Dallas skyline is stretched out before them in all its sparkling majesty. It’s not his first choice of places to be, but this isn’t so bad. 

 

“Are you going to Worlds?” Roope askes, stretching out his long legs. The boot his left leg is encased in  just barely rests against Miro’s bare skin. He hates that thing, hate’s knowing all the pain that Roope has been in for the last few days, hates knowing that’s why he’s going to Worlds alone, if at all. 

 

He shrugs, snags the joint from Roope’s fingers, takes a long pull and only coughs a little. He’s getting the hang of the whole smoking thing. Roope’s lips twist up in a proud and charming smile that Miro wants to soak in. “Don’t know,” he finally answers. 

 

“You should.” Roope takes the joint back and gets lost in a swirl of fragrant smoke. Strangely it just makes him even more beautiful. “Someone needs to shut Klinger up.”

 

Miro snickers. It's not that the idea isn’t great. Playing for your home country always is. He’s come to appreciate Dallas, but its not Finland, it's not home. “If I win it’ll just make Klinger all pouty next season.”

 

“I’m not sure that’s possible.” Roope passes him the bottle. They’re not bothering with cups and the liquid burns his throat, but it's not a bad burn, it just reminds him he’s alive, like the smokes, like the sweets. These little indulgences to remind himself that losing out in the playoffs is not the end of the world. Like Roope sitting next him long limbed and gorgeous, back dropped by those stars that he’d been complaining about earlier. He looks like he does on the ice, small under the white and green lights, but brighter than them. 

 

“Mom already wants to know when I’m coming home.”

 

Roope snorts, peals back a wrapper with his long fingers. “You can always go home. That’s what summers are for.”

 

He grins messy and teasing and Miro wonders if chocolate tastes as good, better, from his lips. 

 

“I haven’t been home since last summer.”

 

Roope shrugs, shifts and winches before resettling. The city below them is nothing like home. To big, to busy, to chaotic, but still he thinks with time, with the right people, person, it could be. It could be home or something like it. Or he could be a very young idiot, they could both be, drunk on Texas vodka, high on a joint borrowed from their captain, and with the taste of sweets from back home on their tongues. It’s puppy love or its the real deal. There’s no telling and that's the best part. 

 

Roope smiles when he catches him watching, soft and confused and sad and jubilant. It makes something tremble in answer in Miro’s chest, something that isn’t drugs, alcohol, or sugar. “What?”

 

“Nothing.” Miro shakes his head, swoops in and yes the chocolate taste better from Roope’s lips. It's a kiss around smiles and giggles that can’t be contained. It’s happiness and sorrow and it’ll get better and goodbye for now rolled all together. 

 

Miro will go to Worlds if he wants and then he can go home and eat all his moms food. Roope will stay here, at least until his foot is healed. There’ll be texts and phone calls and video chats. Roope will complain that Miro needs to lighten up a little and Miro will point out that Roope works just as hard as he does. They can text everyday, and video chat, but in the end Miro is going to miss this part. Just hanging out in the peace and calm of the night. 

 

When he pulls away he settles himself against Roope, head on his shoulder. Connected and sweet. It’s soft. It's probably too soft, but he’s exhausted. He’ll get over it. 

 

“You wanna come visit me?” Miro blames the alcohol, or the drugs for just blurting it out. He was going to be smooth. Going to say just the right things, make it seem like he hadn’t been thinking about it for months. He blushes and then powers through. It’s gotten him good places before. “During the summer I mean. You weren’t up here when my parents came and they want to meet you.”

 

Roope blows a cloud of smoke, but there’s a curl in his lips. “That sounds fun. It they ever let me out of here.”

 

He’s talking about the boot, but it's more frustration of being done with hockey for a whole season. Miro knows. He gets it. As nice as laying out in the dark lazy and baked is nice,but he would rather be getting to play. 

 

“Next year.” Miro agrees with all the naivety of being nineteen, young, and in love. “Esa can mother us all year like a weirdo with Klinger and we’ll go all the way. You and me.”

 

Roope is silent for a moment, his eyes up at the sky where the clouds are trying to break. He jerks and Miro shoves an elbow in his side to get him to stop moving. “Look, I think there was finally a star.”

 

“Pretty sure that was an airplane.”

 

“A star, a shooting star. You gotta make a wish.”

 

“It was a radio tower.” Miro grins, smacks a kiss on Roope’s neck, feeling his eyes flutter shut. He’s tired, he’s warm, and he’s ready to fall asleep. They’ve earned it. “You saw it anyway. You have to make the wish.

 

Roope shrugs underneath him. “I got plenty for right now.”

 

Miro is forced to agree.


End file.
